


Longing of the Soul

by themadmammoth



Series: Swallow Me Whole [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Episode: s05e09 With All My Heart, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Magic Revealed, arthur learning to treat merlin better, but it'll take them a while, merlin learning to look after himself and not just arthur
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29001495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themadmammoth/pseuds/themadmammoth
Summary: It was at the cauldron that it all unravelled. Within the space of a few short minutes, Merlin destroyed everything he thought he knew. Arthur should hate him.He did not.
Relationships: Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Swallow Me Whole [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120658
Comments: 33
Kudos: 131





	1. Unspoken burdens

**Author's Note:**

> Can be read as a stand-alone, but follows on from Better Left Unsaid and rehashes those themes. 98% of this will still make sense.
> 
> The summary reads from Arthur's POV and that's what most of the story will be but Merlin will pop up here and there including the first chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur loves Gwen but will be unfaithful to her in this fic, mostly emotionally but occasionally physically. Please don't read on if that will bother you. That said there won't be any Gwen bashing nor will she meekly stand aside because Merlin and Arthur are so happy together as if she doesn't have her own feelings.

Merlin gingerly probed the lump on the back of his head and winced. The throbbing in his skull had not eased since he had tumbled off the cliff edge in the pass. The distraction of the wound was an unwelcome worry, and it had taken everything he had to stay docile when Mordred told him he would prove himself worthy of trust.

In the few months since the vates had shown him the vision, Merlin had almost grown used to his destiny hanging over him like the sword of Damocles. The weight of the prophecy simply had to be borne; there was no other choice if he wanted to save Arthur. But the stress of the last few days was growing unbearable, even for him. Gwen’s fate was dependent on his ability to summon the white goddess, which required power beyond perhaps any sorcerer he knew except himself and Morgana. This had to be done while maintaining and ageing spell so that _his_ fate would not be execution, because if he was burnt alive then he could not save Arthur from his fate of dying.

And now, when his skull was pounding and he needed all of his concentration to protect Arthur and save Gwen, Mordred had appeared as if out of thin air to _help_ them. The last thing he needed right now was a treacherous druid to keep an eye on. He glared balefully at the sleeping knight. He was prostrated close to Gwen to better protect her, but a respectable enough distance to maintain propriety. Merlin was grateful. The more distance between Mordred and his friends, the better.

The fire crackled pitifully, ebbing lower. Arthur, seated across from Merlin, tossed another stick onto the pile. A cloud of sparks flew up as the timber hit the dying embers and Merlin used the opportunity to wordlessly raise the flames a little with his magic. There was precious little wood to be found in the barren landscape and the stone was quick to seep away any warmth. 

‘You ought to get some sleep, Merlin,’ said Arthur, ‘it’s a long journey tomorrow and you’re injured, you need to rest.’

Merlin shook his head. He couldn’t leave Arthur unprotected with Mordred so close by. ‘No, can’t. Need to keep an eye on Gwen,’ he said by way of excuse.

‘She’s my wife, Merlin. I’ll look after her.’

‘You’re not a physician.’

‘Neither are you,’ said Arthur, lips quirked as he poked the fire with a dagger, ‘and I’m not going to rescue you again if you fall down another cliff from exhaustion, so go to sleep.’

Merlin bristled. The comment wouldn’t sting under usual circumstances, but Arthur had no idea what he was going through. ‘Yes, I suppose ten years training under Gaius is worthless,’ he said waspishly.

Arthur’s head snapped up at the sharp tone, but his eyes softened at the wounded, guarded expression on Merlin’s face. He sighed. ‘Merlin, there’s nothing you can do for her right now, physician or not. I’ll keep administering the tincture. Guinevere is my wife. It’s my responsibility to look after her.’

This could hardly be further from reality, Gwen’s fate rested entirely in Merlin’s hands. He struggled for several seconds to find a way to explain to Arthur.

‘She’s my friend,’ he finally said.

Arthur shook his head. ‘Merlin, it’s not your duty. I let her get kidnapped, I didn’t rescue her in time, I didn’t notice she was being controlled. I failed to protect her. This is my responsibility now. Get some sleep.’

A wave of regret washed over Merlin. Arthur could be about to lose his wife, and her fate was entirely out of his hands. The last thing he needed right now was Merlin snapping at him. Arthur wasn’t to blame for not knowing.

‘It’s Morgana’s fault, Arthur, no one else’s.’ _And mine_ , he added silently. He had driven Morgana to what she was, hiding his magic and poisoning her until she had nowhere to turn to but Morgause. Saving her life after Kilgarrah warned him against it. Each mistake worse than the one before it.

‘And it was my job to protect her from Morgana,’ Arthur replied wearily. He rested his head on his shoulder to look across to Gwen. The firelight hollowed out his eyes. He looked exhausted.

‘You won’t be any use if you don’t rest either, Arthur,’ he coaxed. Arthur didn’t respond. Merlin followed his gaze to where Gwen lay tucked under her cloak.

‘It’s something I have to do as well,’ he said. ‘Gwen was my first ever friend when I arrived at Camelot. I was in the stocks after the first time I met you, and she came up and introduced herself.’ Gwen slept peacefully near the edge of the firelight. She looked so different now, swathed in imported silk and hair that fell in long waves. It was a far cry from the homespun dress and messily pinned curls she had once worn. ‘We’re not as close as we were, but she’s still my friend.’ He finished.

‘What happened?’ Arthur asked softly. His eyes did not leave Gwen.

Merlin shrugged. ‘She became Queen. It was never really the same.’

Gwen was still the kindest person he knew, but he doubted she would shake the hand of a boy in the stocks with rotten tomato in his hair and stutter out a clumsy hello. Today, she’d probably order him to be released with a benevolent smile, all grace and confidence.

‘That’s never stopped you before. I don’t think I’ve ever met a more disrespectful servant.’

Merlin gave a soft smile. ‘Well, you’re a prat, it’s easy with you.’

Arthur snorted and looked up at the cloudy night sky. His face shimmered from the heat of the flames.

‘I’m sorry you lost that.’

Merlin relaxed his arms from where they’d been crossed against his chest and slung them loosely over his bent knees. He locked eyes with Arthur. ‘It’s okay,’ he said, ‘I’ve got you.’ If he had no one else left in this world, Merlin knew it would be bearable as long as he still had Arthur. His gaze was steady, hoping Arthur would read the fervency in it. 

Arthur’s lips parted slightly. A second passed, or perhaps an infinity, then Arthur blinked and looked down at his boots. 

‘I mean, you’re a poor substitute for Gwen,’ Merlin teased, ‘she’s a lot prettier than you.’

This is how it always was. They could be open with each other in sparse moments before the raw intensity became too much to bear and one of them would break the spell. Merlin would panic and crack a joke, and they would go back to normal.

This time though, Arthur did not follow his lead. He was quiet, frowning at his shoes. Merlin’s heart beat a little faster.

‘You’ve got lots of people besides me, Merlin. I know there are things you’ve shared with Mordred you haven’t with anyone else.’ Arthur looked at the sleeping knight and his mouth twisted. ‘Not even with me.’

Merlin’s eyebrows flew up, but Arthur had more to say. 

‘He’s an excellent knight,’ Arthur began, then seemed to have difficulty speaking. He opened his mouth several times.

‘I know you said there wasn’t a girl, but, well, if there was a _boy_ , if it’s Mordred, then… he’s a good choice. He’ll be good for you, Merlin.’

 _‘Morded!?’_ Merlin squawked.

‘You share secrets with each other that no one else knows, and you’ve barely taken your eyes off him all day and night. If the reason you’re so reserved around him is that you’re nervous because you like him, you shouldn’t be, Merlin. He respects you,’ Arthur said heavily.

Merlin’s brain ground to a halt. He stared at Arthur, aghast. Mordred was destined to _kill_ Arthur, and Arthur thought Merlin fancied him.

 _No!_ No, absolutely not!’ he said far too loudly. Mordred stirred and Merlin froze, praying to whatever gods there may be that he not wake up. He pulled his cloak up a little higher over his shoulder and continued sleeping. Merlin exhaled and turned towards Arthur, who looked mildly taken aback.

‘That was vehement,’ Arthur remarked.

Merlin glared. ‘That’s because there’s nothing!’ he hissed. ‘I don’t even like Mordred!’

‘You’ve been acting like a lovelorn idiot around him all day!’

‘You couldn’t spot if someone was in love if they were right in front of you,’ Merlin bit out. 

‘Well, I don’t know, Merlin, maybe you shouldn’t go around blathering your secrets to people you don’t like.’ Arthur was angry now, too, eyebrows pinched and back hunched defensively. 

Merlin gaped. ‘Are you jealous?’ 

‘No!’

‘You are, aren’t you? You don’t like that he knows things about me that you don’t.’ A wild sort of giddiness bloomed in Merlin’s chest and a grin spread unchecked across his face before he could stop it. 

‘Then why does he know secrets of yours?’ Arthur said hotly. Merlin looked at him. Had Arthur’s cheeks been that red before? He closed his eyes and breathed out heavily to settle the happy delirium ricocheting against his ribcage. 

‘I didn’t tell Mordred anything. I wish he didn’t know, actually. Someone else told him.’

Arthur stopped glowering from under his eyelashes and his face went slack. ‘Someone betrayed your confidence to him?’

‘Oh – no. The person who told him wasn’t anyone that had ever met me, they just happened to know.’

‘How does a complete stranger know things about you?’

‘It’s complicated.’

‘You can tell me, Merlin.’

Merlin studied him across the fire. Arthur’s eyes were soft and round, earnest. Merlin’s chest felt as if it was wrapped in too-tight bandages. If Merlin could have one thing in the world, it would be that Arthur knew his secret. He practically vibrated with the need to tell him sometimes. 

Merlin knew subconsciously that Arthur wouldn’t execute him, but the look of betrayal and revulsion on Arthur’s face in his dreams paralysed him, made him wake up choking in fear and snot. He’d been lying for so long it was part of him.

‘I want to,’ Merlin said quietly. His eyes stung as fat tears welled in them. ‘I will, one day. There’s no one I want to tell more. But I can’t. Not yet.’ He scrubbed his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. 

Arthur wouldn’t look at Merlin. He poked agitatedly at the fire with his dagger again.

‘I do mean it Arthur. I will tell you.’

No one said anything for a long time. The fire crackled gently.

‘We’ll take it in turns watching Gwen,’ Merlin offered. ‘I’ll take first watch.’

It was a measure of Arthur’s respect for Merlin that he let the subject drop despite his hurt and closed his eyes to sleep. 

* * *

Arthur watched Guinevere through the second half of the night, whispering softly that he loved her as he slipped the tincture past her lips every two hours. She showed no sign of hearing him. 

He roused the others as the sun slipped over the horizon. Merlin was curled up as tightly as possible under a worn blanket inside a nest made from the bags he’d been carrying. Arthur stamped down on the protective wave that rushed through him at how small Merlin looked.

 _‘Mer-lin,’_ he called, leaning over to breathe directly in his ear.

Merlin let out a muffled noise and stirred, then opened his eyes to Arthur hovering millimetres from his face. He yelped and scrambled backwards.

‘Good, you’re up. You can cook us breakfast. We burned down the last of the firewood an hour ago, you’ll have to go fetch some more.’

‘Yes, good morning to you too, sire,’ Merlin grumbled, rubbing his eyes and glaring.

‘Come on Merlin, don’t just lie there. We need to get a move on. At the speed you go it’ll take us at least another week to arrive.’

‘You’re not giving me a lot of incentive to hurry up. Have you ever tried being nice to people to get them to do things for you?’

‘Merlin, if you don’t get up this instant, I’ll have you shadow George for a week when we get back to Camelot.’

Merlin sat up quicker than Arthur had ever seen him move in his life, including when running from bandits. 

‘I’m awake!’

‘Good. Now go find us some firewood.’

The angle of the early dawn light illuminated Merlin’s milky skin as he stomped away. Arthur smiled as he watched him go, then shook Mordred gently awake.

‘Morning, Mordred. We’ll be travelling again soon, best to start getting ready.’

Mordred blinked in confusion and looked around.

‘Sire? I wasn’t woken for watch last night?’

‘Merlin and I took care of it. You deserved to sleep after what you did yesterday.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ Mordred nodded respectfully. He carefully smoothed his rumpled cloak and began adjusting the straps on his vambraces, askew after a night sleeping in them. His eyes kept wondering back to where Arthur had seated himself beside Guinevere. 

‘Where is Merlin?’

‘Gathering firewood,’ said Arthur. Mordred looked away, looked back at Arthur, then stared at the ground again. Arthur felt impatience creeping in. By gods, how had it fallen to Arthur to provide emotional support for everyone? It was his wife lying unconscious on the ground, her future unknown. He’d had to reassure Merlin last night even though Merlin was usually so attuned to when Arthur was not feeling himself. He raised his eyes to the heavens, fatigued and exasperated. He hated being King at times, at always having to lead.

‘Is something the matter, Mordred?’

‘Do you trust me, sire?’ he asked, folding his cloak fastidiously.

Arthur sighed. ‘Mordred, I trust you as I trust all of my knights. You saved my life in Ismere and again in front of the Disir. You have nothing to prove. What’s this about?’

‘Why did you not have me take watch?’

Ah. Arthur could understand that. When he was younger the knights would never wake him for watch on patrols. Ostensibly it was because he had been Crown Prince and deserved the comfort of a full night’s sleep, but there was always a nagging voice at the back of his head that said they thought he was soft and couldn’t be relied on to keep proper watch.

‘Guinevere is my wife and one of Merlin’s oldest friends. She means much to both of us, and we wanted to be by her side. We do trust you, Mordred. You’re one of Camelot’s best,’ he explained. Hopefully that would appease him, as Arthur was already drained enough without a dispirited knight to handle. Merlin was acting strangely, quicker to anger than usual, and he’d been distraught last night when Arthur had asked him to share whatever he was keeping to himself. He needed to give all his attention to Guinevere and Merlin. He stroked Guinevere’s hair. 

‘Was it Merlin who suggested the watch? My lord?’ Mordred added. 

Arthur pressed his lips together as his patience dissipated. He had no idea what was going on with those two. He was thankful that they weren’t lovers, as he’d originally feared after the way Merlin had watched Mordred whenever the knight wasn’t looking. He didn’t want Merlin finding someone he enjoyed spending time with more than Arthur and abandoning him. But if they weren’t cooperating, that was hardly better. 

‘Mordred, whatever is going on between you and Merlin, now is not the time for it. We have one and a half days left to get to the cauldron before I need to stop drugging Guinevere, where we have to consort with a dangerous sorceress, and even with all that I might lose her forever. Merlin’s still recovering from his fall yesterday. I need you to put your… relationship, whatever it is, with Merlin aside and focus on the task at hand.’

‘Of course, sire,’ said Mordred, bowing his head submissively, ‘I apologise.’ His eyes were downcast and he fidgeted with his gloves.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, already regretting his lapse in temper. Mordred was now doubting himself, which is exactly what he had been trying to avoid. He breathed out slowly. 

‘Mordred.’

Mordred looked at him from the corner of his eye. 

‘You’re one of my best, most trusted knights. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. I mean it when I say there’s no one else from the round table I’d rather have on this quest than you.’

He was pleased when Mordred gave a small smile. Mordred reminded him of a younger version of himself in some ways, desperate to prove himself and willing to do anything to serve. He was glad he had taken him under his wing. He was brave, loyal, and turning into a fine swordsman with excellent initiative. Arthur felt a brief glow of pride. 

Merlin’s words from last night had baffled Arthur. _I don’t even like Mordred_ , he had said. Arthur wasn’t sure what there was to dislike about the boy. ‘What is going on between you and Merlin, anyway?’

‘My lord?’

‘Don’t pretend to be ignorant, Mordred, I know you’re smarter than that. I don’t want to have my servant fighting with one of my knights. Somehow you know more about Merlin than any of the rest of us, but you’re not close.’

Mordred gave a small shrug. ‘In, truth, I can only guess, sire. I have said before that I believe he is protective of you.’

The wind ruffled Arthur’s hair. He frowned at Mordred. ‘But that doesn’t make any sense,’ he shook his head. ‘You’ve saved my life more than once, why would he feel he cannot trust you?’

‘I do not know. Perhaps he is uncomfortable that anyone should know the things about him that I do, but least of all that someone close to you should know.’

The implications of that hit Arthur like a warhorse at full speed. Mordred was saying that whatever Merlin was hiding, Arthur was the _last_ person he wanted to know. He recalled Merlin last night, his carved cheeks shimmering gold where the firelight glistened off his tears. _There’s no one I want to tell more_ , he had said. Which was the truth? Arthur swallowed and felt as if he might be sick. 

Mordred continued, unaware of Arthur’s plight. His hands clenched briefly and flexed open by his sides. ‘I would like Merlin to trust me. He is incredibly loyal to you, and I greatly admire and respect him.’

‘I’m sure he’ll come round,’ Arthur said mechanically. He barely heard Mordred. His mind was a thousand leagues away. 

Merlin, master of inopportune timing, chose that moment to reappear with a dismally small bundle of firewood cradled in his arms.

‘Is that all you can manage?’ he demanded, nodding at the few twigs Merlin had collected. He knew it was unfair to lash out when Merlin had no idea why, but then, maybe Merlin shouldn’t be keeping secrets from him. 

Merlin stopped short and stared at him, affronted. ‘You go get some yourself then if there’s so much of it lying around.’

‘Just get on with making breakfast, Merlin, we’ve wasted enough time.’ He turned away, back to Guinevere. Everything was so much simpler with her than it was with Merlin. He took one of her hands and sighed as Merlin angrily banged pots and cooking equipment together in the background. 

‘Stay with me Gwen,’ he murmured. ‘Look what I’ve already done without you, I’ve upset both Mordred and Merlin and it’s barely past dawn.’ He watched her mouth as if she might suddenly laugh and tell him to apologise. 

She did not move. He dropped her hand and it fell limply to her side. Arthur felt very small and very lonely.

Arthur closed his eyes so he didn’t have to look at her. Behind him, Merlin whacked something and swore. He sighed again. Things might be simpler with Gwen, but there was a sense of completeness when he was with Merlin. He needed his friend right now, even if he was angry with him. 

Merlin served them tasteless gruel (‘I’m sorry, sire, maybe if you’d helped, I’d have found enough wood to make a proper breakfast,’) which was somehow hot enough to burn his tongue despite how low the fire had been (‘Was the food too hot, my lord? Maybe I should have used less firewood.’) Arthur refused to take the bait. Mordred watched in nervous silence.

Soon they were nearly done packing, with nothing left but for Merlin to gather the bags. As he started to load himself down, Arthur wordlessly picked up a satchel and hung it across his own shoulder, then lifted Guinevere. Merlin stared.

‘Don’t stand there like a gibbering idiot, Merlin. We’ve made good time this morning, I’m not going to lose it because you’re trying to imitate a stunned squirrel.’ A delighted smile lit up Merlin’s face, so bright that Arthur couldn’t help but smile back. 

‘Come on, let’s go,’ he said, jerking his head towards the path. ‘You can walk next to me.’

‘If you expect me to fall over myself for the dubious honour of walking beside you instead of behind you like one of your sycophantic lords, you’re going to be disappointed,’ said Merlin. The effect was somewhat ruined as he hurried to fall in step next to Arthur. Mordred was ahead of them both. 

‘Don’t worry, Merlin, I’m used to disappointment where you’re concerned.’

‘If you’re used to being disappointed does this mean you’re going to stop putting me in the stocks when I take time off?’ Merlin said happily. He was practically bouncing. 

‘You mean when you’re in the tavern? I said I was used to disappointment, Merlin, not that I was pleased by it.’

Merlin scoffed. ‘I already told you I’m not in the tavern.’

‘Alright then. Visiting a girl.’

‘What’s with the sudden interest in my love life lately?’ Merlin asked curiously. ‘First you get me drunk to ask if I’m seeing anyone, then you tell me I’d be good with _Mordred_ of all people.’

Arthur’s stomach did a little flop. _Because I want you to be this happy all the time, but I don’t want anyone else to make you look like that_ , he thought instinctively. He almost stumbled. There was no way he could say that out loud, he sounded like a lovestruck girl.

‘My floors are in a deplorable state already with the frequency you wash them. I don’t need them getting any worse because you’re spending time with some girl.’

Merlin’s smile doubled in size. ‘Then why try and tell me to go after Mordred?’

Arthur wracked his brains. ‘He’s a knight,’ he finally reasoned, ‘so he understands your duties and wouldn’t get in the way of them.’

‘Of course,’ Merlin nodded shrewdly. ‘None of this would be because maybe you just like having me around?’

His stomach lurched again. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin,’ he said. ‘I can always rescind the invitation to walk beside me.’

They both knew that Arthur would never do that, and Merlin would never listen to him if he did. Merlin’s eyes sparkled mischievously below his raven-dark hair, and the stone Arthur had had in his stomach since finding out about Guinevere lessened a little.


	2. Tear down the walls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mordred and Morgana knock each other out for plot because he was going to get in my way, so if you're wondering why he doesn't show up that's the reason.

It was at the cauldron that it all unravelled. 

Merlin and Arthur crested the road at a sprint, Guinevere jostling against Arthur’s shoulder. Mordred and Morgana lay somewhere behind them. Arthur did not know if he could bear the guilt if they returned to find Mordred dead but he could not abandon Guinevere either. Loose shale skittered from beneath their feet as they stumbled towards the cauldron. 

The cauldron itself was smaller than many of the great lakes around Camelot. What distinguished it was not the size but the astonishing azure water and formidable sheer stone walls at the opposite bank, unlike anything Arthur had ever seen before. The entire basin was a dull, mournful grey, interrupted only by the crystalline water of the cauldron. For the first time, Arthur understood how Merlin had known the cave in the myrtle grove was sacred. An oppressive weight hung in the air. Although perhaps that was his own foreboding. 

He lay Gwen gently by the water’s side, his hands lingering as he did so. She looked so innocent asleep. Arthur remembered her sheer goodness, the kindness and compassion he had relied on so many times to guide him, and her boldness and conviction in doing the right thing. This may be the last time he ever saw her resting so peacefully. 

‘I’ll go get the sorcerer,’ said Merlin, seizing a sack from the pile of bags. 

The words spilt from Arthur’s mouth before he could stop them. ‘Merlin, wait.’

Merlin barely stopped, his long legs propelling him towards the edge of the cauldron. Arthur sucked in a lungful of air. If the ritual didn’t work, what would he do with Gwen? Lock her in the dungeons for an eternity? Pour the last of the belladonna down her throat and watch her gradually slip away?

_‘Merlin,’_ he said, and to his deepest shame, his voiced cracked. He would not cry. 

The sound of gravel crunching beneath Merlin’s feet stopped abruptly. A desolate breeze whistled faintly. Merlin was a stark silhouette against the bleak landscape.

‘Arthur?’ he said softly. 

‘What happens if I lose her?’ he asked, looking back down to Guinevere’s closed lids. He remembered watching her sleep the morning after their wedding night, the first time waking up together. He’d imagined opening his eyes to her every day for decades. Maybe he never would again. 

Merlin moved towards him until he was no more than an arm’s length away. ‘We won’t. It’s not going to happen. I won’t let it.’

Arthur laughed, an alien sound that sounded like it belonged to someone else. ‘There’s nothing you or I can do, Merlin.’

‘Arthur, I _won’t let that happen.’_

Arthur panted and shook his head, staring unseeingly past Gwen. He tried to force himself to focus on her, to look at her, if just for one last time. He looked away instead. He didn’t want his last memory of her to be of her here, drugged and unconscious. 

He felt as if he was standing just outside his own body. He was going to lose her, he was going to be alone – even Merlin, who he had once thought was irrefutably _his_ , was hiding things from him, and who would Arthur have left? He couldn’t go through with this knowing he might have nothing and no one when it was all done. 

He blinked away the stinging in his eyes. His sole comfort these past few days had been that Merlin would be by his side. He thought he had resigned himself to Merlin keeping things from him but with Gwen on the cusp of slipping away from him, the pain roared back up inside him like dragonfire. He didn’t want to be alone. He had once thought that Merlin might have been created just for Arthur, he fit into his life so perfectly. The knowledge that he was keeping secrets from Arthur made him feel like their matching edges were jagged and scarred. If he was hiding things, they didn’t belong seamlessly together like he had thought. Merlin would eventually grow tired of trying to make himself fit. 

The knowledge broke something inside him even deeper than losing Guinevere, as if his soul itself had fractured. If Guinevere did not – if it did not go well, Arthur did not know if he could survive it without Merlin being by his side. 

Arthur looked at Merlin. Their eyes were perfectly level. They were the same height, the same blue eyes, but Merlin was dark and delicate where he was golden and broad, almost like mirror reflections of each other.

‘Merlin, whatever happens –,’ he choked off, ‘whatever happens, swear you’ll be with me. Please.’

‘I’m here, Arthur,’ said Merlin. He looked at Arthur beneath softly drawn eyebrows, his face lined with care. 

‘No,’ Arthur shook his head. Merlin didn’t understand. He didn’t know how to say it, he could barely even admit it to himself. ‘I can’t lose both of you. Say you’ll be with me.’

_That you will always be with me_ , he thought. 

‘You already know that.’ Merlin looked at him searchingly. Had his eyes always been so blue? ‘There’s nothing in this world that could make me leave you.’

His heart thudded against his chest with the weight of a thousand ages. ‘But you don’t trust me,’ he breathed. ‘Merlin, I’m going to lose –,’ he shook his head. ‘I need you. I _need_ you.’

‘You have me, Arthur. All of me.’

‘Then why can’t you _tell me?’_ And now really wasn’t the time but Arthur couldn’t help it, every fear he had rushing to the front of his mind. Everyone he ever cared about keeping secrets and then leaving him, one after the other just like they’d been doing for years, his mother, his father, Morgana, Agravaine, _Guinevere_ – 

‘Arthur,’ said Merlin in a wrecked voice. ‘Arthur, I –,’ He stopped, looking at Arthur with anguished eyes, and then suddenly he was driving forwards and Arthur was pressed against him with the full length of his body, his face cradled gently in Merlin’s palms. He was being kissed, soft lips coaxing his own, he was being kissed by _Merlin_ , and something slid into place that he hadn’t even known was missing.

His own arms held Merlin tightly and he kissed him back with the desperation of a man hanging onto the edge of the world by his fingertips. Merlin gasped and Arthur deepened the kiss, catching Merlin’s lip and pulling it into his own mouth. Merlin’s tongue ran across his teeth, hot and wet and perfect, and _yes_ , this was what he needed, he wanted the fire unfurling inside him to consume him until he didn’t remember who he was anymore. 

Merlin broke the kiss and pressed their foreheads together, panting as if he’d just fought battle. 

‘I’m yours, Arthur. Every part of me,’ he said, voice rough. Arthur’s heart leapt erratically at the sound. 

The water in the cauldron washed against the rocks at his feet and he felt a wave of guilt so powerful he thought he might never be able to breathe again. 

‘Guinevere,’ he said numbly. His arms fell from Merlin’s sides like he’d been burned. Guinevere was still here and he’d allowed himself to be kissed by Merlin. Had kissed him _back_. 

Merlin pressed his hands to his mouth, horror-struck, his eyes already red and wet. ‘Arthur, I’m sorry – I shouldn’t’ve – I know you’re not mine –,’ he clapped a hand to his mouth again as his body was wracked by a sob. 

Unbidden, Arthur felt himself shaking his head. There’d always been an unspeakable connection between them. He’d just never realised that it was – that it –

All those years Merlin had been right in front of him. He was no better than a blind fool. 

‘It’s not…,’ he trailed off unsteadily. _No_. He did not want to understand the thoughts that whispered to him from the deepest recesses of his mind. He wanted it to stop, wanted the confusing feelings of _sin heat yes no_ to cease their assault on him. 

He had been scared of losing Gwen. Desperate for someone to comfort him. His judgement had lapsed. His judgement did that a lot around Merlin, after all. This wasn’t anything different or unusual. 

He cleared his throat. ‘Go get the sorceress,’ he rasped.

Merlin turned towards the cauldron with shaking shoulders and then stopped, having not moved even an inch further away. Arthur’s eyes were glued to where the pale column of Merlin’s neck was interrupted by that infernal scarf. _A lapse in judgement_ , he repeated to himself. 

‘Arthur, I said every part of me.’ His voice was thick and low with tears, but otherwise surprisingly steady. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’

‘I think you made things quite clear, Merlin,’ Arthur mumbled. He didn’t want Merlin to say it. 

Merlin whirled around to face him. ‘There’s something else. Something you’ve been asking me to tell you.’

If Merlin’s kiss, if his – his _feelings_ hadn’t been what he had been concealing, then what was it? Everything felt amplified. Arthur’s pulse thundered in his ears, the cauldron water echoed strangely as it lapped at the rocks and Merlin’s dark hair gleamed where it reflected the light. Arthur did not want to hear what Merlin had to say. 

‘By the gods Merlin, just get the _bloody_ sorceress!’

Merlin was trembling from head to toe. He swallowed, wiped his nose on his sleeve, and looked at Arthur piercingly. Arthur’s stomach lurched. 

‘There is no sorceress.’

What was Merlin saying? They had journeyed for two days for what - _nothing?_. 

‘Merlin – I don’t understand, what do you mean there’s no sorceress?’

Merlin was heaving in gasps of air between sobs.

‘It’s me, Arthur,’ he shuddered. I’m a sorcerer.’

Before, the world had been too loud and bright. Now it seemed to still in time. Arthur took a step backwards. He didn’t understand. Merlin was going to give him an idiotic grin and tell him it was a _stupid_ joke. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin.’ 

Merlin fell to his knees, his eyes so swollen and streaked with salt tears they were almost unrecognisable. ‘I have magic, Arthur,’ he said in a watery voice. He cupped his hands together in front of him. ‘Look. _Bærne_.’

Merlin’s eyes were the colour of liquid gold. 

Clinging desperately to his old reality, he told himself that he was seeing things. The sun on Merlin’s eyes. 

Except he’d _seen things_ a lot before, when he thought about it, strangely bright reflections from torches and swords flashing in front of Merlin’s eyes.

It was cloudy. There was no sun. 

A tiny flame danced in Merlin’s palms without kindling.

_‘Forsċieppe draca,’_ Merlin breathed. The fire became a dragon which leapt from Merlin’s delicate fingers, wings beating thrice before disappearing into smoke. Arthur stared at where it had vanished. There was no trace of it remaining. His mind was curiously blank, as if every thought had evaporated into thin air alongside the dragon. 

‘Arthur?’ Merlin asked from below him. He had stopped crying. ‘Arthur, I can summon the white goddess. I can perform the spell to rescue Gwen.’

He had forgotten why they were there. ‘Gwen,’ he echoed hollowly. 

Merlin’s lashes were clumped together with tears. He bit his lip. ‘Arthur, I’ll wake Gwen up. Listen to me. You need to reach the part inside her still untouched by Morgana. She must enter the cauldron willingly.’

Anger began to stir distantly inside him. Within the space of a few short minutes Merlin had destroyed everything he thought he knew. ‘How,’ he asked slowly, ‘am I supposed to concentrate on Guinevere?’

‘Do you love her?’

Arthur struggled to focus. ‘Yes,’ he managed at last. The truth. 

‘Don’t think about anything else. Just remember Gwen. How you feel when you’re with her. The first time you kissed her, the moment you knew you wanted to spend your life with her, the day you made her your Queen.’

Arthur’s jaw trembled imperceptibly. He hated Merlin for doing this to him. Guinevere slept soundly on the cauldron’s shore, but she would wake soon. He nodded. He was King. He always did what he had to do, even when he didn’t want to. Even when he didn’t think he could.

He barely registered Merlin chanting words of power over Guinevere’s body, nor the struggle she put up as he tried to drag her to the water. He recalled the second time he asked for her hand in marriage like it was a dream. Arthur was soaked to his waist in frigid water almost the same shade as Merlin's eyes as a blinding whiteness enveloped Guinevere.

She turned to him with tears in her eyes and held her hand towards him. He fell upon it blindly, embracing her, and then he cried too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's probably not being as much of an emotionally constipated egg as he should be and Merlin's sense of timing is comically awful but I never said I was a good writer.


	3. Evasion

The two and a half day journey back to Camelot seemed to stretch on for weeks. 

Arthur had always preferred smaller quests with fewer men. Nights spent talking quietly around a campfire brought a sense of kinship that grand marches could not match, with Arthur forced to sequester himself in his tent and talk to advisors. With just him, his men, and their swords, it felt as if some of their titles were stripped away. They made Arthur’s men more loyal to him, and Arthur more loyal to them in turn. 

It was an open secret that he best liked to ride with his most trusted knights of the round table, those who had faced an undead army to help him rescue his father, but in truth he preferred it even more when he rode out without any of his knights, because that meant no one but Merlin and his radiant smile. When they disappeared into the forests together Arthur could let himself imagine that maybe he was not King of Camelot and Merlin not a peasant from Essetir, and that they were just friends journeying across the land together. 

Arthur should have cherished the journey with just his closest friend, his wife, and his young protégé Mordred. Perhaps, in another lifetime where his entire world had not come crashing down at the cauldron, he would be feeling more content than he had in months. Guinevere was a warm presence against his back as they rode double on his horse, safe and whole and beautiful. Mordred, whom Arthur had taken under his wing, was unharmed after encountering Morgana. And Merlin –

Merlin. 

One of the first things Guinevere had asked after wiping away Arthur’s tears and emerging from the cauldron was how they had managed to undo the magic performed on her. Her memories while under control were clear when she could focus on them but doing so proved difficult. They tended to evade recollection, leaving a sense that she had forgotten something and would remember it any second. It took intense concentration for her to force a memory to coalesce, and she claimed the memories of the cauldron were especially elusive with an almost slippery quality to them. 

‘Arthur – how? That was powerful magic, wasn’t it?’ she said. She looked above the turquoise water, scanning the clifftops on the other side of the cauldron as if trying to find the person responsible. Guinevere was sodden, water already pooling below her where it fell in drops from her heavy skirts. She was so deep in concentration as she tried to remember, her mouth parted, that she did not notice the cool breeze rustling against the wet cloth on her skin.

Merlin was standing just metres behind Guinevere, his mouth pinched as he watched the back of her head. Arthur had never seen Merlin look as small and vulnerable as he did in this moment, subservience and misery etched into every line of his body. His shoulders were hunched in over his chest, and he looked sideways towards the ground with fidgeting hands. 

‘There was a sorceress,’ said Arthur vacantly. 

Merlin’s head jerked up and looked at Arthur with shocked puzzlement. His breast rose and fell in shallow, frantic breaths. 

‘The Dolma. Gaius told us about her,’ Arthur continued. He didn’t really feel like he was thinking about anything that was coming out of his mouth, words springing involuntarily to his lips.

‘Then we must thank her! Where is she?’ Guinevere asked, an elated smile lighting up her face. Arthur’s heart seized. His wonderment at Guinevere being safe was as strong as his fear of trying to explain the fictitious sorceress’ absence. 

It was Merlin’s voice that piped up. ‘She’s a recluse, she shuns the company of men. She left straight away. The best way we can thank her is by leaving her alone.’

The ease and skill with which Merlin told the lie was disconcerting. Arthur had always thought him a terrible liar, but he supposed that was another thing he’d been dishonest about. The man in front of him was more of a stranger than they day they’d met. 

The wind whipped across them again and the hair on the back of Arthur’s neck stood up. The gale and his wet garments gave the metal of his armour a biting chill, but pain was preferable to the yawning emptiness he felt. Merlin, clad in nothing but a light jacket, shuddered in unison with him. 

‘Oh,’ said Guinevere. ‘How kind of a sorcerer to offer aid to Camelot, and despite being a recluse as well.’ Arthur’s stomach turned. ‘We are lucky indeed,’ she smiled up at him.

Guinevere’s hand was warm in Arthur’s own. She stroked the back of his palm with her thumb and Arthur vividly remembered how Merlin’s hands had felt as they raced over his body, large and rough and not at all like Guinevere’s soft fine ones. Arthur wanted to return her smile, but his chest hurt every time he tried. didn’t know if he deserved the unadulterated love shining in her eyes. He squeezed her hand and drew her into a hug instead, but her soft embrace didn’t bring him the comfort it usually did. 

Merlin was crying again as Arthur watched him over Guinevere’s shoulder. 

Guinevere turned towards Merlin when she and Arthur finally parted and her brow immediately furrowed. ‘Merlin, what’s the matter?’ She asked, rushing towards him. She pulled his hands into her own. 

‘Nothing,’ he shook his head. ‘Just… glad to have you back, is all.’ He punctuated the end of the sentence with the tiniest and briefest of smiles, then his eyes flitted to Arthur and away again. He was tense all over, like a horse ready to bolt. 

Guinevere noticed the split-second glance and looked between Arthur and Merlin shrewdly. ‘He’s been taking all his worry out on you, hasn’t he?’ She tried to catch Arthur’s eye, one eyebrow raised reproachfully. ‘You know he didn’t mean any of it, Merlin. He cares for you,’ she said, her pointed tone clearly designed to half-address Arthur. 

Under usual circumstances Guinevere would have been right, and Arthur would have been suitably chastised for treating his best and only friend so churlishly. Now, part of Arthur wanted to scream that no, actually, he didn’t care about Merlin, that he was a liar and a sorcerer and he’d kissed Arthur and Guinevere should hate him too. But when Merlin’s mouth spasmed into a grimace before he carefully smoothed out his face, he just felt hollow. 

‘I’ll make him make it up to you.’ Gwen promised Merlin, so quietly that Arthur almost didn’t catch it. 

Something potent swirled inside him, finally piercing the numb fog in his brain. Arthur felt himself come alive again, and his blood stirred as disbelief blossomed into anger. It was _Merlin_ who should be sorry. He had hoodwinked Arthur for ten years, tricked him into thinking that he was his friend when all this time he’d lied to Arthur about everything. He was a sorcerer, he should be _grovelling on his knees_ for his life – 

Arthur felt like he’d been doused in the freezing cauldron all over again and his mind cut off the thought abruptly. 

‘We should go,’ Arthur declared, obstinately looking everywhere except at Merlin. ‘We left Mordred behind facing Morgana and he hasn’t caught up to us, we need to find him.’

He saw Merlin stiffen at the edge of his vision. Whatever Merlin’s petty issues were with Mordred, Arthur told himself he wasn’t interested in them anymore. Merlin was a liar, a sorcerer, and an adulterer. He was probably jealous of Mordred, who had no magic and all of Arthur’s trust. 

‘Yes, we must go at once then,’ said Gwen. She wrapped her arms briefly around Arthur once more before they turned to the path, and Arthur felt the soft swell of her breasts pressed against him. His breath caught as he remembered Merlin’s hard torso against him instead, and for the first time, but not, he suspected, the last, he was struck dumb with guilt. 

And so they had departed, back into the unforgiving stone pass. It was grey and colourless and foreboding, and their footsteps seemed to ring out in the lifeless landscape. The barrenness felt oddly appropriate, like a reflection of the gaping hole inside him left by Merlin’s betrayal. Thankfully, they found Mordred alive and only slightly worse for wear not far from the cauldron, but Arthur could not find it in himself to be grateful for long. 

Resentment pulsed through him, hotter with every step. He was furious that his friend had been lying to him through his teeth. Merlin knew what the ban on magic was to Arthur. It was more than a bygone legacy from his father. Arthur had lost his entire family to magic, had grown up without a mother and watched his father’s life be snatched away right in front of him just when he had dared to hope. He had seen it twist Morgana into a vengeful husk of her former self. Merlin knew that he had been hurt by magic, so many times he was breathless to count, yet he had engaged in the one act that had caused Arthur more pain and suffering than anything else in his life. 

The ride home was an exercise in torture. Arthur was incandescent with hurt and rage but could not say anything with Mordred or Guinevere there, and he found himself wishing every turn in the path would reveal Camelot’s sandstone spires. 

They travelled in near silence, the fraught tension between them discouraging anyone from speaking much. Merlin was trying to make himself as invisible as possible, constantly at the back of the group and avoiding all three of them. Whenever Arthur looked at him, suffering either a violent flare in his temper or a stab to the gut every time he did so, Merlin’s eyes were puffy and bloodshot. Arthur wanted nothing to do with Merlin, so this suited him just fine. More difficult was Guinevere, because being near her made him hot with shame. He stiffened when she touched him and responded to her concerned probing in monosyllabic, brooding tones. Every time he saw her his mind replaced brown eyes with blue, rich skin with pale, and he felt sick to his core remembering the way he had held Merlin. Even Mordred had been swept up in the animosity. He could obviously sense that Arthur was in some kind of turmoil and skirted around him nervously, and did not know Guinevere well enough to venture beyond small talk with her. 

By the last night, settled in a small copse at the far edge of the Darkling Woods, Arthur was so frayed by the wild carousel of rage, hurt and guilt he had been subject to that he abandoned Guinevere and made himself as alone as possible at the very edge of the firelight. He longed for the solitude of a campaign tent. The tension between the four of them crackled louder than the burning timber of their fire. 

If he’d been asked, he wouldn’t be able to say why he’d lied about Merlin’s magic. All he knew was that when he looked at Merlin his heart beat faster and his vision blurred and the world spun. But he couldn’t _stop_ looking at Merlin. Every moment Arthur wasn’t watching him his head was filled with the memory of Merlin on his knees before him, his eyes gold and brimming with tears, or of his rose-kissed lips as he separated from Arthur. The images were unceasing and overwhelming, compelling Arthur to look at Merlin just once more, over and over again, against his will. 

Guinevere didn’t let him sit alone at the edge of camp for long. Her skirts crumpled on the muddy ground as she perched on her knees beside him, further ruining the water-stained silk. Some part of him admired her tenacity and compassion at trying to comfort Arthur after everything she herself had been through. He was being unfair, he knew. 

‘Arthur, speak to me. What’s the matter?’ she said softly. She rested her hand on his forearm.

Arthur’s skin crawled. It wasn’t his fault Merlin had thrown himself blindly at Arthur, but a treacherous voice at the back of his head reminded him in soft, sibilant tones that he had responded to Merlin in kind. How could he tell his wife he had kissed another man while she lay unconscious on the ground under Morgana’s spell? He had _banished_ her for infidelity with Lancelot once. Arthur shuffled his feet uncomfortably. 

He couldn’t tell her about Merlin’s magic either. He didn’t know why he couldn’t tell her that, just that thinking about it made his throat choke up until it was impossible to get any words out. 

He swallowed and clenched his jaw to push everything back, watching Guinevere’s hand, unable to meet her eye. 

‘I should have noticed that something was wrong with you,’ he said. ‘We rescued you from the dark tower months ago and I never suspected that you’d been enchanted. Merlin had to tell me. Your own husband couldn’t see that you were being controlled by Morgana, but my servant did.’ It was true that this had been bothering him, and the honesty finally gave him the courage to look at her. ‘I was supposed to protect you.’ 

‘Arthur,’ she said gently, ‘Morgana ordered me to act as normal as possible around you. It was an enchantment, it was flawless. Merlin only knew because I… because Morgana did not force me to be as discreet with him, if it meant that – that Merlin would be gone.’ Her voice was tight. She cleared her throat, bobbing her head.

‘You didn’t fail me, Arthur. You risked everything to rescue me from the tower, and you risked everything again to trust magic to bring me back. I know it didn’t end well the last time you used magic to save someone you loved. That you were willing to deal with a sorcerer again, for me, is far more important to me than you being deceived by Morgana.’

That made Arthur jolt, and he realised for the first time that once Merlin had revealed he would be doing the spell, none of Arthur’s hesitation had been a lack of trust. It hadn’t even crossed his mind since that Merlin could have deliberately – or even accidentally – botched the spell. He was Merlin. He’d never let Arthur down before.

That only made everything worse. Everything would be so much simpler if he didn’t trust Merlin. 

Guinevere squeezed his forearm where her hand still rested on it, troubled by his lack of response. 

‘That’s not everything, is it? There’s something with Merlin.’

Fear made Arthur’s heart beat harder. She couldn’t know.

‘Don’t look at me like that, Arthur, I’d have to be blind not to notice. The two of you are usually inseparable, and now you can barely stand to be near each other,’ she said, raising her eyebrows. ‘It’s not his fault he spotted Morgana’s enchantment before you, and you know it too, or you wouldn’t be avoiding him like this.’

Arthur relaxed just slightly; Guinevere was still misinterpreting the reason for Arthur’s behaviour as him having wrongly taken out his anger on Merlin and subsequent remorse for doing so. She took his slackened posture as resignation rather than relief. 

‘He’ll forgive you, Arthur, he always does. It’ll be alright.’ The fire glowed a little brighter, turning her eyes from dark to warm, and Arthur could see earnestness written in them. 

Despite her sincerity, her words were so far off the mark that he only felt the distance between them stretch further, an impossibly wide chasm. How could any of this possibly be _alright?_ His best friend was a sorcerer and was in love with him. 

Ironically, he wished he could speak to Merlin about it. Merlin was good at emotions and feelings in a way that Arthur wasn’t. Arthur had been told his whole life _stand proud and look straight ahead, you are a Prince, Arthur, and you must show them that_. He had never been able to be weak in front of anyone except Merlin. It was too shameful. 

Even with Guinevere, who had been both a balm and a compass to him, he had never been able to fully entrust himself. Her conviction and the way her eyes blazed with righteousness left him with a lingering sense of inadequacy sometimes. He had hidden things from her before or deliberately not sought her counsel when he knew he was being selfish, such as when he had summoned Uther from the spirit world.

He had shared _everything_ with Merlin, even though Merlin had apparently not done the same for him. 

Arthur had known Merlin had kept things from him. He had lost sleep over it, wondering if they were as close as he had thought, if he might leave one day. Arthur had pressed and pressed until he had finally told him everything, and all Arthur wanted now was to push every terrible confession back into Merlin’s mouth. 

Guinevere was still waiting for a response. He nodded to appease her. She leaned in and kissed him, slow and soft and sweet. He desperately wanted it to end, feeling shame for what he had done with Merlin rising higher and higher in his throat. 

Relief washed over him as they broke apart. Her hair was loose and frizzy after days without care, more evidence of the terrible ordeal she had been through. Guinevere smiled happily as he tried to brush the curls behind her ear. 

‘You should get some sleep,’ Arthur murmured. ‘You’re still recovering from taking the belladonna.’ 

He led her back to the others and laid her in the choice spot upwind where the smoke would not disturb her, and tucked her carefully into her cloak. Merlin lay on the other side of the fire curled up tight, his blanket pulled high around him. It was impossible to tell if he was sleeping or merely feigning. 

Arthur unrolled his mat and dithered for a moment, eventually flattening it near Guinevere, but not right next to her as he normally would. Just close enough he could pretend he had shifted away naturally in his sleep. 

It seemed he was becoming as skilled in deceit as Merlin.

Unsettled, he slept poorly through the night. He woke early to the ripe smell of petrichor and charred remains of their extinguished fire; it must have drizzled during the night. Guinevere slept soundly, but Merlin trembled and tossed his head in the throes of his dreams. Arthur rubbed his arm uncomfortably and ignored him in favour of searching out Mordred, who was already awake. 

Arthur found Mordred running a comb across the shoulder of his horse where they were tethered under a great leafy bough. His saddlebag was packed, and Arthur’s mount, Llamrei, looked to have been groomed already. 

‘Sire,’ Mordred greeted, stroking one of the mare’s cheeks. She nickered gently and nudged Mordred’s hand. The knight gave a pleased smile.

‘I have been trying to win her over since I arrived in Camelot,’ said Mordred. ‘The stablehand told me she would be the most loyal steed I would ever ride if I could gain her trust. I know it is Merlin’s job to look after the horses on these journeys, but I have asked him to let me attend my own. I think I have finally been rewarded.’

Usually Arthur would have given the young knight some kind of encouragement, but he really couldn’t bring himself to care about the horse right now. However, upon hearing Mordred mention Merlin’s name, something began ticking at the back of his mind. Arthur had known the two of them were keeping a secret between them, a secret that couldn’t be anything but Merlin’s magic. Pieces began to fall into place: Mordred’s upbringing with the druids, Merlin’s hostility towards him. Arthur had been too distracted before now to think of it. His anger, which had begun to wheedle into despair after talking to Guinevere, reared back up inside him.

Mordred, unaware, made to crouch down to tuck the comb into his bag. Arthur seized Mordred’s arm before he could do so and the comb fell to the ground, clattering off a root. He dragged Mordred forcefully away from camp, out of earshot, and shoved his back against a tree. 

‘You knew about Merlin’s magic,’ he hissed, pressing his arm across Mordred’s shoulders. 

Mordred’s reaction was not one of shock, or fear, or alarm as Arthur had expected. There was an odd gleam in his eye, and he fixed Arthur with a penetrating look.

Something ran up Arthur’s spine as he remembered how _eerie_ Mordred had been as a child when Arthur bade him farewell in the woods; there was an intangible quality that shrouded him like a thick winter’s cloak, rendering him utterly inscrutable. He cast a chilling aura, and Arthur could not explain why, but he let go of Mordred and took a step back. 

‘He told you,’ Mordred breathed. His eyes were chips of ice. Arthur had the disconcerting feeling the power between them had flipped: he was prey caught in the eyes of his hunter. 

Arthur swallowed and shifted his weight on his feet, trying to recover from his unease. Mordred had confirmed what Arthur already knew, that he had been concealing Merlin’s magic. 

‘How long have you known?’ he bit out.

Mordred’s head cocked slowly sideways, his expression blank. Arthur was still suspended in his gaze. 

‘What difference does it make to your intentions?’ 

Arthur glared because Mordred was right, it didn’t change a thing. 

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he tried instead. 

Fury flashed across Mordred’s face, so quick Arthur wondered if it had really been there. ‘You have been clear on your position regarding magic. I respect Merlin, I was not going to threaten both himself and you by exposing your protector to the risk of the pyre.’

 _Your protector_. Even though the only time he had seen Merlin use his magic it had been for Arthur, he had been too consumed by hurt and betrayal for it to occur until now that Merlin had done this before, in secret. 

After the incident with the Questing Beast, Arthur had known how lucky he was that he had survived. He told his father he thought there was a guardian watching over him. Apparently, it was nothing as mystical as that.

Just Merlin. 

The realisation made him stumble backwards, nearly falling as his heel collided with a tussock of grass. Merlin was always making jokes – but no, they weren’t _jokes_ – about protecting Arthur. How many times had Merlin saved his life and he hadn’t even known?

He had chosen to live with the daily risk of execution for _Arthur_. He had breathed in the noxious smoke of charred flesh from sorcerers burned under Uther’s orders, standing silently by so he could stay by Arthur’s side.

Stunned, Arthur turned back towards the camp. The clouds had parted, casting dappled light and turning the world a rich green. Merlin and Guinevere were awake, Guinevere trying to fix her snarled hair while Merlin pulled bread and cheese out of a saddlebag. There were dark bruises underneath his eyes.

Arthur’s breath was shallow as his emotions rebelled, he didn’t know what to think anymore, he hardly knew who he was. Merlin had risked everything for him, but that didn't erase the empty, twisting sensation caused by a decade’s worth of lies, nor years of Arthur losing people, one by one, to magic. His mother and father, Morgana, Lancelot, Elyan, and very nearly Guinevere. He cursed Merlin for looking so tired and vulnerable when Arthur just wanted to hate him. 

‘Arthur,’ Mordred called from behind him. Arthur studied him over his shoulder. 

‘What are you going to do?’

Uther had spent years fruitlessly trying to exorcise every last shred of indecisiveness from his son, but Arthur had never had his father’s strength and he never would. He was paralysed, possessed by a completely inability to understand anything his riotous feelings were trying to tell him. 

He wasn’t going to do anything; he didn’t know how. He walked away from Mordred without a word. 

‘Clear up,’ he ordered when he reached the horses where Merlin and Guinevere had assembled. ‘If we get going now, we should reach Camelot by mid-afternoon.’ He hesitated, then spoke again. ‘Llamrei needs rest after carrying two riders yesterday. She was lamed last month and I can’t risk aggravating it again. Guinevere, you ride her alone. I’ll walk.’ 

More lies, dripping from his mouth like rain; Llamrei was in perfect health and it was four months since she had been lame. He wanted to be alone. 

‘You can use my horse, sire,’ said Merlin. Arthur’s heart leapt frantically at being addressed for the first time since the cauldron and he swung to face him, but Merlin’s head bowed, studying a rock near his foot as he proffered the reins to Arthur. He looked very small, like he was trying to shrink in on himself. As if he was scared of Arthur. 

Rage, or maybe self-disgust, lit every nerve in his body. He didn’t want Merlin’s horse. 

‘Don’t be stupid, Merlin, you’ll trip over the first log we find and break your neck,’ he snapped. It was a sick pantomime of his usual chatter with Merlin, indistinguishable if not for the vicious tone and the way Merlin visibly recoiled.

‘Arthur!’ Guinevere cried, her lips parted in shock. Her eyebrows creased fiercely. ‘Apologise! Merlin’s done nothing.’

Arthur trembled to contain himself. He wanted to grab Merlin by the shoulders and shake the fear out of him, he wanted Merlin to know what it felt like to be betrayed, he wanted to _roar_. 

‘We’re wasting time,’ he said coldly. He saw Mordred from the corner of his eye and Arthur’s breath caught at the unknown multitudes in his gaze. His shoulders hunched in embarrassment at his own actions and he stomped towards the trail, trying to put as much distance as possible between his back and their judgemental eyes. 

They encountered no one on the path. The depths of summer and its sultry, never-ending days had long passed, and travellers and traders alike had finished their journeying for the season. The chill in the air heralded the withering of the light and dark days to come. The forest was quiet except for the quiet jangle of tack and Arthur’s thoughts echoing thunderously in his head, driving him to despair. 

Merlin grew increasingly agitated the closer they drew to Camelot, looking around constantly and shifting in his saddle. His horse responded, stamping and tossing its head nervously, even shying away as Merlin went white as they passed through the city gates. Arthur half expected him to flee, but he steered his horse on behind where Arthur walked, skin stretched taught over his knuckles where he had buried his fingers in his horse’s mane. 

As they entered the courtyard, Merlin looked from Arthur to the royal balcony with trepidation. He drew level with Arthur and dismounted at the stairs, his eyes as wide as Arthur had ever seen them, red veins streaked against blue eyes. Merlin’s breath hitched as he tried to inhale. 

‘Arthur,’ he murmured. His head was bowed just slightly, barely looking upwards to meet his eyes. ‘Arthur, what are you going to –,’ 

Arthur didn’t think he could stand to be near Merlin for another minute. He _hurt_ when he looked at Merlin, an ache so real that the Questing Beast’s bite on his shoulder twinged in time with the painful rhythm of his heart. 

‘Stable the horses, Merlin,’ he interrupted. Merlin gaped, confused. ‘And fetch George. He’ll be attending me.’ Arthur paused, staring just past Merlin instead of at him. ‘I won’t be needing your services,’ he said as tonelessly as possible. He turned to follow Guinevere up the stairs, but not before he glimpsed Merlin resting a hand on his horse’s shoulder as if to steady himself, his eyes wet and anguished. 

‘Arthur!’ Merlin called.

Arthur refused to look back, leaving his best friend and his own heart shattered into pieces on the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's back to being an emotionally repressed potato.


	4. Alone in the world

Within days, every trace of Merlin had been purged from Arthur’s life. Ten years erased almost instantly, as if he’d never been there, as if there’d never been a _Merlin-and-Arthur._ Arthur was glad he was gone. Merlin had never been his friend, because a friend wouldn’t lie every day for years on end, practicing magic behind his back and pretending to be someone they weren’t.

He wanted to erase Merlin from the castle as if he’d never existed. His determined avoidance was all that kept him from succumbing to the savage pain in his heart. It hovered constantly at the edge of his chest, threatening to overwhelm him if he caught a glimpse of his life that once was. 

George was a ruthlessly efficient servant. Arthur ate a lavish breakfast at a meticulously set table each morning, he never blundered into a council meeting unprepared because his schedule had been forgotten, and his armour was clean before he even thought to ask for it to be polished. There was no trace of incompetence or irreverence to remind him of Merlin. It was good. 

It wasn’t good. Arthur quietly longed for the easy camaraderie that Merlin’s sloppy ministrations had brought, instinctively riffing off each other in a way that had made Arthur come alive. Now, each day simply droned by in a dull grey blur, day bleeding endlessly into night. Arthur had never felt this bored or empty before he’d known Merlin, and he wished he’d never met a winningly insolent boy with eyes that glowed when he wasn’t looking. 

There were moments when he forgot, or his careful denial was punctured. One day, he found himself listening to a report from Leon after a patrol had visited one of their outposts near the border. 

‘There have been trade issues at the border, sire,’ Leon said as Arthur stood behind the desk in his chambers. The broken quill Merlin had never gotten around to replacing was gone. ‘Merchants have been complaining of taxes in the pass, and some are claiming they have been charged passage in Camelot’s name.’

‘And there has been no sign of skirmish?’ said Arthur.

‘No, sire.’

Arthur drummed his fingers on the table thoughtfully. ‘It could be bandits or Essetir’s men. Still, we should pay Lord Alwyn a visit. His father used to tax the pass illegally.’

‘I’ll arrange a contingent,’ said Leon. Arthur shook his head.

‘No, I want it to be unexpected. That way we’ll catch him off guard if there’s anything going on. We’ll travel covertly. Tell Percival and Gwaine we ride out two days from now.’

Arthur was desperate to get out of this castle which was brimming with the ghostly memories of Merlin. The prospect of time alone with his knights – _loyal_ men, not like Merlin – was soothing. Leon bowed his head and exited, murmuring his assent.

George was crouched by the fireplace, depositing fresh timber into the cradle next to the hearth. There was no bark scattered on the floor like Arthur used to find after his firewood was replenished. 

‘George,’ Arthur called. George stood crisply to attention with his hands clasped behind his back. 

‘May I be of assistance, sire?’ he asked, addressing the wall next to Arthur. George rarely looked directly at him, which he supposed was meant to be a mark of respect. Arthur gritted his teeth. 

‘Inform the stable master we’ll be going on a four-day journey. We need five horses ready, ones that are suited to the distance.’

‘Shall I inform Sir Leon that you wish to take an additional knight?’ George inquired.

‘What?’ said Arthur, distracted by the annoying way George’s eyebrows raised every time he asked Arthur a question. 

‘Yourself and Sirs Leon, Gwaine and Percival will require four horses, sire. Would you like me to take a message to Sir Leon telling him who will be taking the fifth horse?’

Arthur stared at George, feeling as if the floor had been swept out from under his feet. The last horse was for Merlin. 

Arthur cleared his throat and braced his fingertips carefully on the table, looking down. ‘You may tell Sir Leon I’ve changed my mind. Sir Gawaint is from the neighbouring estate; he will go instead. He can choose his own men if he wishes.’

George bobbed his head and turned sharply to exit the room. The man was razor-precise in everything he did, a model manservant. He would never go beyond the line of duty for Arthur. 

If Merlin were here, he would have already known he was coming. His place had been unquestionably at Arthur’s side. It was the only reason Arthur had kept him on all this time; he was lousy at the job itself, but where else was Arthur going to find a friend as undyingly loyal as Merlin?

Arthur ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes. The problem was that Merlin _hadn’t_ been loyal, he reminded himself. He hated that he had let Merlin burrow so far under his skin. 

Anger steamed gently inside him and filled his body in twisted spirals, but there was an uncomfortable feeling lodged in his chest as well, the precipice of unimaginable suffering he had been avoiding. He sat down at his desk and swallowed, immediately reaching for a tax ledger to distract himself with. The papers on his desk were always perfectly, logically organised now, no matter how many times Arthur deliberately left them in disarray. 

He did not miss having to ask Merlin where anything was to be able to locate it. He did not. 

His eyes slipped across the parchment and the numbers blurred together, unable to concentrate on anything except the gnawing hole inside of him.

* * *

Rather than growing easier to deal with, the lancing wound of Merlin’s betrayal only hurt more with time. Arthur felt his absence more strongly the longer he had been gone for, which made his aggravation at what Merlin had done sharper in turn. 

Like when he had banished Guinevere, the castle was still overflowing with memories. He found himself staring at the empty spaces in his life Merlin had once filled, his eyes stuttering over the patch of stone in the throne room where Merlin had always stood or catching as he remembered Merlin hanging out a window with an exuberant smile. 

In some ways, it was worse than it had been with Guinevere because unlike her, he had _always_ been with Merlin. Something as simple as a lack of footsteps matching his own, pattering one step behind him, was enough to remind him that something was wrong. 

The other problem was that unlike with Guinevere, no one except Mordred knew what had passed between Merlin and Arthur. The knights, at least, were too respectful to bring it up directly with him, but he saw the questioning looks they gave each other and how they whispered when he was just out of earshot. His wife had no such reservations. 

Barely two weeks after returning to Camelot, Gwen fixed him with a piercing look one evening. Arthur had been taking dinner at odd times to try and avoid her, but today she had specifically gone down to the kitchens to request their meals be served together. 

They were seated next to each other at one end of the table before two richly loaded plates. Arthur watched his plate, using his fork to play with a piece of mutton as he chewed. 

‘Arthur, please, what is going on?’ she burst out helplessly halfway through the meal. ‘I’ve tried to give you space, but Merlin’s not here and you’ve been distant and distracted since the cauldron.’ She pushed her plate aside to lean towards him. ‘You miss him, I can see it. I thought you’d have sorted things out by now. Whatever happened between you two, it can’t have been that bad.’

‘There’s nothing going on between Merlin and I,’ he told her, struggling to keep the edge from his voice. And there wasn’t anything. They weren’t friends anymore; Merlin was nothing to Arthur. He gripped his fork hard.

‘I’m not a fool, Arthur,’ she said impatiently. Her voice was more tender for the next bit. ‘And Merlin’s my friend as well, I don’t want to see either of you hurting.’ 

It was too late for that. Arthur finally looked at her. Guinevere’s eyes were soft and round, framed by thick lashes, but her jaw had a determined set to it. 

‘I want to help. Please, I’m your wife. You can tell me anything.’ She leant across to take his hand where it sat next to his plate but he snatched it away, pretending to rub the back of his neck. Guinevere’s hand dropped forlornly to the table where his had rested just moments ago. 

As much as Arthur loved her, Guinevere had never been the person he could tell everything to. Merlin had already filled that role by the time Arthur and Guinevere were able to catch more than fleeting moments together, so effortlessly and comfortably Arthur had never stopped to wonder if it was unusual that he shared more with his servant than he did with his lover. He hadn’t even really realised until he lost Merlin. 

Perhaps that was the reason for that thrice-damned kiss and the little sparks of lightning in his veins. 

Arthur forced himself to pick up Guinevere’s hand, cradling it in his own and kissing her knuckles gently. She was so unlike Merlin with his arresting, ethereal looks. Guinevere’s features were like an invitation, soft and open. She was undeniably gorgeous with her delicate collarbones and tumble of dark hair, but it was a warm, understated beauty. She looked real. Tangible. 

Gods above, but Arthur loved her. Damn him to eternity for his transgressions with Merlin. 

‘I want to tell you,’ he whispered. She deserved to know. 

‘You can,’ said Guinevere, her eyes searching his earnestly. ‘I’m here for you, Arthur.’

If Arthur had been standing, those words would have sent him reeling. They were almost identical to the ones Merlin had spoken at the cauldron, just before his whole world fell apart. 

Arthur opened his mouth and choked on his own voice. 

‘I _can’t_. I don’t know how.’

The crestfallen look on Guinevere’s face broke his already fragile heart even further. She pulled her hand away and nodded once, looking at her lap and blinking quickly as if to hide tears. 

‘I’m sorry, Guinevere,’ he said quietly. 

‘No, no, of course not. I understand,’ she said quickly. ‘You’ll have to excuse me, I’m feeling quite tired.’ Her voice became high-pitched at the end, struggling to rein in her emotions. 

He let her go. There wasn’t any comfort Arthur could give her right now beyond telling her the truth, which he was incapable of doing.

Guinevere abandoned her plate to ready for bed and Arthur picked listlessly at his own meal. It held no appeal to him. 

Eventually, Arthur undressed and slipped between the sheets to join her. He tried to pull her into an embrace, but she rolled towards the edge of the bed, facing away from him. He rested his hand in the void between them instead, then he also rolled over, guilt bending his spine away from her like a magnet.

* * *

Arthur led the knights in training early the next morning. It wasn’t on his schedule, but he hoped to distract himself from the night before with burning muscles and hand-to-hand combat. The dewy grass glimmered faintly in the dawn as he marched towards the field. The knights were already gathered, including Leon, Percival, Gwaine and Mordred. 

It was usually Mordred that Arthur had trouble keeping his eyes off, once because he had been carefully tracking his progress, and now because Mordred’s constant watch made his skin prickle uncomfortably. Today was no different. Arthur wrenched his gaze away from Mordred and cleared his throat to speak. 

‘Pair off. We’ll be going through some basic strike-and-parry drills to start with, and then progress to one-on-one combat. Percival, you’re with me to begin.’

Arthur could do with the challenge Percival provided by fighting a stronger opponent, as well as his single-minded focus on the task at hand to the exclusion of all else. Gwaine glowered and muttered something to Percival, but Percival gave him a quiet word and moved towards Arthur. 

‘We’ll set up over there,’ said Arthur, nodding to indicate. Someone knocked against his shoulder hard from behind and he almost stumbled. Gwaine stormed past with a defiant look at Arthur, silently daring him to respond. Mordred followed him just after with shrewd eyes. 

Arthur huffed out an irritated sigh but reined himself in, not in the mood to let himself be baited. The men formed two lines in their pairs. He settled in opposite Percival, eager for the mindless physical repetition of drills. 

‘Position six!’ he called to the men, and Percival’s line took a step forward and mimed a downwards stroke. The knights were familiar with the sequence that followed and moved in unison in a two-handed block. The concentration required for correct technique, as well as the physical exertion, soothed Arthur. He fell into a steady rhythm with Percival, gradually upping the pace, until there was nothing else but his aching muscles and the orchestra of steel. 

Content from the hard work, he raised a hand to Percival to call a halt with him. 

‘I need to go check on some of the other men, watch their technique,’ he said. ‘You were light on your feet today, good work.’

Percival nodded, but the movement was short and without his usual smile. Arthur moved away with a twinge of unease, looking back at Percival as he left. He walked up and down the line, correcting wrist positions and offering advice, until at last he arrived before the pair he had been avoiding. Mordred and Gwaine moved carefully through the drills, focusing on form over speed or power. Gwaine noticed him on the side. 

‘His highness has decided to grace us with his presence,’ he said, smiling derisively at Arthur. ‘I didn’t think you’d stop by.’

‘I watch over the training of all my knights, their welfare is my responsibility,’ Arthur said, and widened his stance as he crossed his arms. 

Gwaine gave up paying attention to the exercises and let his sword drop to his side. ‘I see then, it’s just the knights you care about. Anyone else you can treat how you want.’ He shrugged. ‘You’re the king, after all.’

Arthur narrowed his eyes. ‘Is there something you want to say, Gwaine?’

‘Of course not. Noblemen are never wrong.’ It was delivered with a mocking smile. Mordred watched Gwaine with interest. 

Arthur pivoted and walked away. He wasn’t going to give Gwaine the satisfaction of being goaded by snide comments. If he had an issue, he was going to have to confront Arthur about it. 

‘Stop! That’s enough drills for today,’ Arthur called. ‘Pair off again for single combat. Swords only today, we’ll practice with hatchets tomorrow.’

‘May I have the honour, sire?’ Gwaine asked from behind him. He sounded mocking. 

‘Be my guest,’ he said, spreading his arms. Gwaine clearly had a bone to pick and Arthur was beginning to spoil for a fight as well, aching to batter Gwaine to the ground and shut him up so he could go back to pretending. 

They shifted into a predatory fighting stance, swords pointed warily at each other. Gwaine’s nostrils flared, and that was all the sign Arthur needed to warn him as Gwaine sprang forward in a menacing flash of steel. 

He was fast. Arthur swung his blade up in time but was forced to cede ground, and he hissed in frustration at starting the fight already on the back foot. He thrust viciously at Gwaine’s hip to compensate, and the two met again in a flurry of metal. Their blows were powerful, and despite the blunt swords Arthur knew the fight could end in a broken bone with the force they were using. His blood roared, his focus narrowing to the single point of Gwaine’s body and the sword in his hand.

Gwaine ducked under one of Arthur’s swings and moved in close before he could adjust, too close for his sword to be useful. Gwaine shoved Arthur’s hips instead, and he staggered backwards and fell as his ankle rolled on the wet grass. He threw himself sideways instantly, knowing Gwaine would already be nearly upon him, and sprang to his feet. 

Pain shot through his ankle and he swore violently. He blocked Gwaine’s next strike almost too late, testing his injured foot again. It could still just take his weight if he needed but it was painful enough he needed to favour it. Gwaine advanced, pummelling him with blows. 

Arthur was so focused on trying to move deftly with his ankle that he almost missed his opportunity. Gwaine aimed his next stab too low, and Arthur stepped sideways onto the hurt ankle. Agony flared through him and he roared, but Gwaine wasn’t expecting him to use his bad foot and couldn’t react fast enough as Arthur used his new position to push Gwaine’s blade further down. Gwaine was forced off-balance and Arthur rammed him mercilessly to the ground. Unable to use his feet properly, he planted one knee firmly on the small of Gwaine’s back and held his sword to the back of his neck. Gwaine was pressed flat against the damp grass for several seconds. Arthur panted hard, feeling as if he’d just fought a tournament. His pulse still raced. 

‘Sire?’

Arthur looked up at Percival, who was watching them with his head tipped warily. His eyes flickered meaningfully to where Gwaine was still pinned. Arthur stood abruptly, not bothering to offer any assistance to stand. Leon watched the proceedings with a doubtful gaze. Mordred, as always, was silent and unreadable.

Percival held out an arm to Gwaine and hauled him off the ground. They nodded and shared a look, still clasping each other’s arms, then looked at Leon. Arthur’s fury spiked again. He threw his sword onto the ground – George would fetch it later and he wouldn’t even tell Arthur off for losing his temper, he was such a _pushover_ – and limped towards the armoury, seething. 

He tore off his gloves and vambraces and tossed them venomously aside, then swore explosively as he was shoved hard from behind against a rack of spears, his ankle screaming as he stumbled on it. 

‘What did you do to him!?’ Gwaine roared. Arthur caught his balance against the rack and turned cautiously, trying not to upset his ankle any further. Gwaine’s jaw and shoulders were set fiercely. 

Arthur wasn’t going to try and play dumb. He was still spitting for a fight, anyway, this is what it had all been building to. 

‘Nothing,’ he snarled. ‘Merlin’s the one who should be sorry.’

‘Bullshit it’s his fault,’ Gwaine hissed. ‘Merlin would never do anything to hurt someone.’

‘You don’t know what he’s done!’

‘No, but I know that when a man comes to me crying because he’s scared of what his _friend_ is going to do to him, he’s not the one to blame!’

Merlin was still in the castle, then. Arthur felt strange all over, as if his body was in one place and his mind was somewhere else. 

Gwaine used Arthur’s distraction to hurl more unwelcome words at him. 

‘Merlin would do anything for you, and now you want to pretend he never existed. You pretend to be noble but you’re just like Uther, discarding servants as if their lives are worthless when you don’t want them around anymore.’

Arthur swallowed and glared, protests dying on his lips as shame and anger washed over him. So what if he’d used his power to remove Merlin from his life? Merlin deserved it. 

You’re doing to Merlin _exactly_ what Uther did to _his_ father.’ Gwaine seethed. 

That reached him through a haze of shame and anger. Merlin had never met his father. 

‘Merlin never – what?’ he said, confused. 

‘You don’t like that, do you?’ said Gwaine, ignoring Arthur’s half-formed question. ‘You’re just like every other noble, you only care about yourself. You call Merlin your _friend_ but you don’t know what the word means, you abandoned him without a second thought when it suited you. You’re nothing but a jumped-up, arrogant, piece-of-shit lord who thinks he can do what he wants because there’s never any consequences. You never deserved Merlin.’ 

Arthur didn’t know how he had wanted to fight only three minutes ago. He felt as if everything had leeched out of him, leaving him curiously drained. 

‘Why are you still here, then?’ Arthur asked tiredly. He wouldn’t stop Gwaine, if it was what he wanted. 

‘Merlin begged me to stay. He’s the _only_ reason I’m here,’ said Gwaine. Arthur sucked in a breath as something fluttered in his chest. ‘But if you do anything – I’m not going to let you _touch_ him,’ Gwaine finished with a snarl.

He turned to leave, and Arthur noticed the other knights assembled in the armoury for the first time, watching quietly. 

‘You all heard Merlin last night, too. You’ve noticed him missing. You should have stood up for him.’ Gwaine looked at Arthur over his shoulder, his mouth one grim line. ‘Lancelot would have left the second you got rid of Merlin.’

Arthur thought his heart might burst. Lancelot had been the one person who made him doubt that Merlin was irrevocably his. Merlin had always had a certain ease, a certain openness, around Lancelot that Arthur had never been able to replicate. In hindsight, Lancelot had probably known about Merlin’s magic. Merlin had told _him_ the truth. Arthur knew why. Lancelot was a better man than Arthur; Merlin had been able to trust him. 

He lifted his head. The others were still looking at him. 

‘Merlin’s our friend,’ said Percival. His towering strength belied the sadness on his face. ‘Whatever’s happened, he doesn’t deserve this.’ Leon followed Percival out without his usual respectful nod and honorific, turning his back boldly on Arthur in silent condemnation. 

That left just Arthur and Mordred. Mordred stood at the back of the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. They looked at each other for a long time without saying anything. 

‘You will have to make a choice, Arthur,’ Mordred warned him. Arthur closed his eyes. 

He was alone when he opened them again. Despite the clutter of the armoury, the room felt cavernously empty. 

Arthur had to sit out of training the next day and the day after that, his ankle barely letting him shuffle the length of his chambers. George was positively thrilled at the opportunity to wait on Arthur hand and foot, constantly fetching things or sending messages. Guinevere had taken to sleeping in the adjacent chambers, and by the third day with his ankle still no better and only George for company, he grudgingly embarked on the painful journey up the narrow staircase leading to the physician’s chambers. 

He hovered outside the door for a long minute, anxiety making his stomach roil, before he pushed the door open so violently that it ricocheted off the back wall with a bang. Hopefully, whoever was inside wouldn’t have any warning – would have no time to scurry into the little antechamber where Merlin slept –

There was no one but Gaius, stirring a glugging draught with a wooden spoon. He was momentarily taken aback at the sight of Arthur in the doorway but collected himself with admirable speed. 

‘Sire,’ he said, inclining his head. ‘How may I help you?’ He gathered his hands in front of him, assessing Arthur with a raised chin. 

Arthur blinked slowly and surveyed the room. The door to Merlin’s chamber was shut. 

‘I rolled my ankle at training the other day,’ he said, still searching as if Merlin might be hiding behind a bunch of dried herbs somewhere. ‘It’s not getting better and I’m having trouble walking.’

‘You should have sent for me, sire. Sit down and let me have a look.’

Arthur hadn’t even thought of sending George to fetch Gaius rather than taking the painful walk himself, as if he’d been drawn to the room without realising it. He settled on the bench and propped his leg up on it, wincing as Gaius probed his swollen ankle. 

‘Does it hurt if I do this?’ Gaius asked, manipulating his foot gently. 

‘Yes,’ Arthur gasped, trying to hold back a moan as Gaius rolled it through the full range of motion. 

‘And this?’

This time, Gaius didn’t move his foot, but pressed in different places across his ankle, asking each time if it hurt. Eventually, he let go of it and nodded. 

‘You’re lucky. It’s sprained, not broken. Still, you’ll need to rest it properly for three or four weeks for it to heal.’

Arthur closed his eyes. That was far too long. There was still no word from patrols to indicate Morgana might be on the move, but she could strike at any time. She had come from nowhere to take the citadel in a single night on two separate occasions, although she no longer had the advantage of an inside informant now that Guinevere was healed. Thanks to Merlin. 

Merlin had also known Agravaine was a traitor, and his lack of reaction to Morgana’s betrayal had told Arthur at the time that he’d already known about that, too. He had an uncanny knowledge of what was really going on whenever things were off, and Arthur wondered how much he’d gotten himself involved with because of his magic. 

‘Is there no way to speed it up?’ he said to Gaius. 

‘I’ll bandage it to provide some support, and if you’re lucky it’ll heal in two weeks. That’s only if you keep off it, mind you, or it could be weeks yet,’ he said reproachfully.

Gaius plucked a roll of bandages from a woven basket under the stairwell and sat down next to Arthur, wrapping the cloth around his ankle attentively. They were both quiet as he worked, Arthur trying to ignore the pain. 

Gaius had to have known about Merlin. 

‘Where is he then?’ he asked impatiently, waving to the otherwise empty room. 

‘That depends, my lord.’

‘On what?’

‘On why you want to know,’ said Gaius gravely, looking up at Arthur below raised eyebrows. He continued unrolling the bandage, weaving it slowly around Arthur’s foot. 

Arthur waited a while before he responded. 

‘I want the truth.’ He knew about Merlin’s magic, but that seemed to be the secret that had been stemming the tide. He only had more and more questions. 

‘And then what will you do with Merlin?’ Gaius paused in his work and drew himself up slightly. Arthur still didn’t know, and he lashed out to try and deflect from the complicated knot of emotions inside him. 

‘I deserve the truth,’ he snapped at Gaius. ‘How many times have you stood there and lied to my face, just like my father before me? How long?’

‘How long is irrelevant, sire, what matters is -,’

‘It has _every_ relevance!’ Arthur shouted. ‘Do you understand what it feels like to know that my closest friend has been lying to me about everything for the past ten years, and my longest-standing _advisor_ helped him trick me!?’ His eyes stung.

‘Camelot has not exactly been a stable environment for Merlin, do you really think he would have concealed anything from you if he had any other choice?’ said Gaius tightly, tilting his head towards Arthur. 

‘He didn’t have to learn magic!’ Arthur’s hands were itching and restless by his sides. ‘I’ve lost my whole family because of sorcery, and I might still lose this kingdom to it.’ 

Gaius sighed, and Arthur saw every year of his age in the lines on his face. 

‘Merlin’s magic has never been a _choice_ for him,’ he said, the words drawn from him slow and heavy. 

‘What do you mean?’ Arthur frowned, still frustrated. He was still missing so many pieces. ‘Gaius, I need the truth. All of it.’

Gaius surveyed Arthur from under his eyebrows. ‘I am afraid I cannot give it to you. I cannot even claim to know all of it. But you should know, sire, that Merlin has never done anything to hurt you. All he has ever done is try and protect you, sometimes at great personal cost to himself.’

It was not the first time someone had made allusions to Merlin guarding Arthur, and he was himself beginning to fill in previously unanswered questions, like Lancelot and Merlin – who both knew of Merlin’s magic – taking a mission by themselves they had never completed, only for an immortal army to spontaneously implode without explanation. 

His throat caught anyway, hurt bubbling up inside him. 

‘He still lied to me,’ said Arthur. He’d never have another friend as loyal as Merlin, but he’d never have a friend who betrayed him like Merlin, either. The pain in his heart was a thousand times worse than his ankle. There weren’t enough bandages and rest in the world. 

‘All Merlin has _ever_ wanted,’ said Gaius solemnly, ‘is for you to see him as he truly is.’ There was something sad in his eyes but also grave, as if it was absolutely vital that Arthur understand what he had just said, like he couldn’t impress its importance enough. 

All Arthur could think was that it had taken Merlin ten years to want it enough to finally tell him the truth. Arthur was the one to break eye contact between them. He swallowed, and Gaius returned to bandaging his ankle. 

‘All done,’ Gaius announced. Arthur tested it gingerly. It still hurt, but the pressure of the bandages made it more bearable. 

Arthur almost thanked Gaius on reflex, but managed to catch the words before they escaped. His intentions didn't change any of the lies he'd told. Arthur walked slowly to the door and swept the room one more time, looking for some trace of Merlin.

There was nothing. Merlin was gone, just as he’d wished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Merlin, sorry, but next chapter will be at least partly from his perspective and we'll also find out what's happening with Gwen that Arthur's being too selfish to notice properly.


End file.
